As Far As You Run
by CaughtByTheLight
Summary: Three times Robbie runs away and one time he doesn't. Cabbie


**My first Cabbie fic. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Robbie is nine.

His mother is scarcely home, working three jobs to support their two-person family. Apartments in New York have never been cheap, and Robbie is far too young to work. His father has been out of the picture long before he was born, leaving his mother widowed and without the money to support a son.

She always tells Robbie that his father had a good reason, and that someday, he will understand.

But Robbie doesn't want to understand.

He just wants to help.

His mother has no clue, but sometimes he hears her crying at night. He doesn't know why – not really – but he knows that his mommy is sad. He knows it's because of money.

So, on one January morning, Robbie shoves some clothes, a drink box, Rex, and some snacks into his backpack. His nanny – yet another factor that's contributing to the money problems – is dozing on the couch, having laid him down for an afternoon nap a half-hour ago. Robbie writes his mother a note, in the neatest handwriting he can muster, and says that he was helping out, and that he loves her very much.

And Robbie thinks he's doing the right thing. Mommy needs more money, and Robbie is one of the big reasons there isn't enough. Ventriloquist lessons aren't cheap but his mother knows that it makes him happy. He is helping. He loves his mother, and he doesn't want her to cry anymore. She doesn't deserve to be so sad.

After a moment of thought, he pulls one of the pictures off of the counter that features him and his mother's smiling faces. Robbie's eyes well up, and he's feeling the ache of missing his mother already. He hopes that she understands why he is doing this. He nestles the frame between two shirts in his backpack, praying that it doesn't shatter.

Robbie slips out the door as the nanny sleeps soundly, dead to the world, and with a resigned sigh, he runs away from home.

* * *

Robbie is thirteen.

He lives with a foster family, but it is not home. Robbie's not sure what home is anymore. Robbie's not sure if home even exists.

He keeps the folded up picture of him and his mother in his pocket. He's kept it there every day since he left home. It was there when he found himself on the doorstep to an orphanage. It was there when a woman walked outside, giving him a wan smile and asking, "where are your parents, sweetheart?" It was there as she took him in, put him a room with a kid who was five, and gave him a good meal.

His foster father is the nicest man on earth, Robbie's sure. He's always smiling, calling Robbie "son" and giving him everything he needs. And Robbie appreciates it, he really does, but he's not happy. He hasn't been happy for a while. He hasn't been happy since the first time he caught his mother crying. Happy seems more like a foreign concept, than anything.

He goes to middle school now, but he doesn't like it. Robbie will never fit in; anywhere he goes, he's deemed the outcast. No one really talks to him, and he doesn't really talk to anyone, but it's okay. He doesn't mind being alone.

Robbie doesn't have a girlfriend, and everyone is dating each other in middle school. He sees girls who are pretty, and he even had a crush on a girl at some point, but Robbie wasn't a man of action. Not at school, anyways.

His foster family houses two other kids; kids who are blood-related to the parents. Robbie feels left out sometimes, and they try their best to include him, but Robbie doesn't want to be included. He's not sure what he wants.

Before long, he feels like he's a burden. The foster family wants to move, but Robbie fears the prospect. Here is safe. He knows here. He likes it here, sort of. Here is better than a new place, a new town, with new people he hasn't grown used to.

The father feels bad, but he wants to take the opportunity for this important job in California. It's on the other side of the country. His foster mom – who never quite measured up to his real mom – is supportive. She tries to convince Robbie that it's for the best, and Robbie stops talking.

This happens for three days. His foster mom comes into his room and exchanges one-sided pleasantries before talking to him about relocating. But he never answers. He stares at her, and he hears the words, and he understands, but he can't say anything. He doesn't know what to say.

This family took him in. This family cares about him. And here Robbie is, selfish beyond belief, and refusing to move.

So, he does the only thing he knows how to do – he leaves.

With his new, more mature backpack slung over his shoulder, stuffed with two sets of clothes, a toothbrush, food, and water, Robbie slips out his window.

He doesn't leave a note this time.

* * *

Robbie is fifteen.

He's living at an abandoned warehouse. It's not the nicest, but at least he's not a burden anymore. He still goes to school, but his foster parents have never showed up to look for him. That hurts, but only a little, because this means that they understand. No one has found his place of residence yet, and kicked him out. By some miracle, or mistake, the electricity and water still works. He works at a coffee shop, washing dishes. It pays hardly anything, but it's enough to buy cheap clothes and food.

Robbie is at a different school, with the same people, and he's starting to realize that the girls are getting prettier. And apparently, he's not the _worst_ thing to look at.

He still hasn't had a girlfriend, and that doesn't really bother him. He still likes being alone. He hasn't liked a girl in a while, and he finds the whole high school experience odd. Why does everyone have to like someone to sleep at night?

Robbie doesn't have that either. Sleep. It happens sometimes, but every time he wakes up, he feels more tired than before. He wonders if somethings wrong with him, but he refuses to go to the doctor.

He struggles in school. The work is more complicated. His English teacher tells him that he has dyslexia. Robbie doesn't like the sound of that. It sounds serious. There's a guy with dark hair named Ryder who teases him sometimes, but not in a nice way. And every time he does, there's a nice redhead girl who tells him to shut up. Robbie appreciates her; appreciates what she does for him. If he talked more, he would thank her.

The only time Robbie utters a word is when teachers address him. If any of the students did – which they don't – they would have to ask yes or no questions. Robbie is not good at high school. He's not good at socializing. He's not good at fitting in.

He's surprised when the redhead girl sits with him at lunch one day. He usually sits alone, but this is okay, too. She smiled politely at him, and greets him. Robbie nods to her.

"I'm Cat," she says. Robbie nods. "And you're Robbie." He nods again.

And they leave it at that. Robbie values silence, and it seems that she does, too. He can tell that she wants him to talk, but she's not pushy. He is grateful for that. When the lunch bell rings, Robbie stands. "Can I sit here again tomorrow?" Cat asks.

Robbie looks confused, because since when has anyone wanted to sit by him? But she looks genuine, and Robbie hasn't had a friend for a while, so he nods. She smiles, says her farewell, and leaves. Robbie waits until he's in his next class, before anyone else has entered. He double checks to make sure he's alone, and then Robbie allows himself to smile. And it's a secret smile, merely a stretching of lips, but it's the biggest he's smiled in a long time.

But when Cat starts sitting with him everyday, Robbie feels uncomfortable. He feels like a problem, because she wants him to talk, but Robbie has nothing to say. And if he did, he wouldn't know how to say it. She's pretty, and Robbie is nervous. She wants to hear what he has to say, and that makes him even more apprehensive. He doesn't want her to leave, but Robbie also doesn't want to be the reason why she looks frustrated sometimes.

"Can you say something, please?" Cat asks one day, when she tells Robbie about a bad day at home. Robbie sympathizes, and maybe feels like he should hug her, but he doesn't show affection. Not for a long time. After a minute of silence, Cat sighs. "It was worth a try," she mutters.

Robbie feels bad. He's the reason for her distress. This is all his fault; everything is his fault. Robbie wishes desperately, hopefully and hopelessly, that he could stop messing things up. He bites his lip, and looks at Cat. She's rubbing her temple. Robbie gave her a headache.

He stands, throwing his tray full of food in the receptacle on the way out, and goes home. No one stops him as he leaves campus. He can see Cat's relieved look in his mind, conjured up by the part of his brain that tells him he's doing right, and he believes that she is assuaged now that his existence isn't pressuring her. And that makes him feel better.

He goes home, and packs up his things. He needs a change of scenery.

Robbie's not running away from home this time, though. He's running away from the only person he's cared for in a long time. But Cat wanted things from him he couldn't give – he couldn't speak; he couldn't tell her anything. Telling people things leads to making friends, and making friends leads to trusting friends, and trusting people leads to them leaving in the end.

Robbie takes a long look at what had been his house for almost two years. He closes his eyes, and remembers that he's doing this for Cat. He's doing this because she deserves to be happy, even if he's not.

Robbie wonders what happened to the eight-year-old, bright eyed and messy haired as he excitedly ran around on the playground. He wonders if that was ever really him at all. It seems like a far away dream.

He starts walking.

* * *

Robbie is eighteen.

He waves at the boy he shares an apartment with, and heads out to his first last day of high school. He's a senior, and he's going to graduate from the school he went to at fifteen. For two years, he went to another school, living with a kind man named Beck. Beck was twenty-four, with a steady job and an obligation to take in troubled kids. He was one himself.

Robbie and Beck both work at the coffee shop behind their apartment. The owner is Beck's cousin or something, and their wages are good enough that making rent on the apartment isn't difficult. Beck's parents have passed away, but they left him with a giant trust fund. If he wanted to, Beck could reside in the richer apartments down the road, but he's told Robbie that he prefers low-key.

The school is twenty minutes away, and it's a longer walk than his old school. Robbie feels anxious, and considers turning around and staying home for the day. He only quickens his stride, though, knowing that this was his last year. One more year, and he can be done with high school. It fuels his pace.

Robbie's stomach swoops when the school comes into his view. He thinks of Cat – a girl who he never forgot – and wonders if she's still here. He hopes, in an almost reluctant way.

People stare as he walks up the steps. He's not sure if it's because they recognize him, or if it's because he's essentially a new kid. He thinks it's the second. Robbie hears whispers, and he scowls. He didn't understand why people only opened their mouth to talk about others. Maybe that's why he never talks; because his mother always taught him that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say it at all.

Earlier that week, he visited the school. He's memorized his schedule and his locker location. He hopes that his classes aren't as difficult as they sound.

Robbie considers running away when he sees a flash of red hair opening the locker next to his. Robbie's stomach bottoms out, and he thinks that he's going to throw up. He knows that hair – he'd stared at it curiously for a while, every day during lunch. More importantly, he knows who it belongs to.

With a deep breath, he walks up to his locker with downcast eyes, opening it at lightning speed, hoping that she doesn't notice him – but also hoping that she does. He puts a textbook in and waits – waits for her to walk away so he can breath again – but his locker is slowly shut by a dainty, tan hand. And Robbie winces, because he knows she's seen him.

"You're back," she says flatly. Robbie nods. "Still not talking?" Robbie shrugs. "How have you been?"

Robbie looks at her now, hesitantly, because he's not sure if he wants to, but then he's glad that he did. Cat is prettier, and she still doesn't wear as much make-up as everyone else. He finds his eyes catching at her lips as he carefully memorizes her face all over again.

Then – he feels this feeling. And he thinks he wants to kiss her. Elegant as ever, Robbie blushes fiercely, answering her question with yet another shrug and downcast eyes.

He's about to walk away, because it's silent, but for some reason, arms are enveloping him tightly. Robbie thinks that the hall goes silent, but he notices that it's because all of his senses are attuned to Cat. He hugs her back, holding her as if she's made of glass, and tries to think of the last time he received a hug. It's been years.

"I missed you," is all Cat says, and Robbie feels something tug in his chest. He only nods though, for once wanting to speak, but not trusting his voice. She keeps hugging him, and Robbie wonders how long these things are supposed to last, but then he feels a sharp pain in his shoulder. "I thought you were dead!" It's a hushed whisper, and Robbie's not sure how to reply. He shakes his head, because he's very much breathing. The pain hits again as Cat shoves him. Her glare is strong as she evenly says, "don't you dare do that to me again."

Robbie nods.

* * *

He doesn't have any classes with Cat because he's smart. All of his classes are honors, or college classes, and Robbie suddenly wishes that he was a little less studious.

Since seeing Cat again, he kind of wants to look at her forever. She has this thing about her, and it makes Robbie feel like he could stare at her for years. He sees something new every time. A new freckle, a new gleam in her eye, a new twist to her lips, a new, perfect curl atop her head.

Robbie's happy when he sees that she has the same lunch as him. She is waiting in line, probably to buy a water and a salad, just like she did back when they were fifteen. Robbie moves to stand in line next to her, and not because he wants to be further up in the line. He just wants to stand next to her.

When she smiles, he knows it was worth all the dirty looks thrown his way. "You have this lunch?" Cat questions, paying for her food. Robbie glances down, and notes that he was right. She carries a salad and a bottle of water. He clears his throat and nods. "Can I sit with you?"

Robbie allows one corner of his mouth to quirk as he nods. Cat grins again, and Robbie is worried about how fast his heart is beating.

They sit at a table in the corner, away from the loud popular group. By the way they are staring, Robbie knows that she used to sit with them. "You still aren't going to talk?" Cat inquires.

Robbie gives an apologetic shrug. She nods though, as if she were anticipating his answer. "Can we try something, then?" Robbie cocks his head to the side in silent questioning, but Cat slides a notebook out of her backpack. "I'm going to write, and then I want you to answer me. Can you do that?"

Robbie doesn't really want to, because if he can't think of anything to say normally, why will writing on paper change anything? But he gives her an affirmative response, because she looks excited, and her pencil is already poised to write. She scribbles for a quick moment, turning the notebook to him with an expectant look.

As Cat begins to eat, Robbie reads her question. _What happened to you?_

He hesitates for a full minute before writing two words:_ I left_.

Cat rolls her eyes as she reads his response, giving him a dry look. "No, really?" The evident sarcasm in her voice makes Robbie bite back a smile as he continues his answer. I went to a different school for a while.

"Why?" Cat questions aloud, too busy eating to pause and write. Robbie's okay with that, though. He doesn't want to inconvenience her. "Why did you move?"

Robbie sighs then, because he's obviously not telling Cat that it was because of her. However, Robbie values the truth just as much as he values silence, so he settles for writing "_I was scared_."

"What of?" Cat prompts.

Robbie winces, not thinking about the fact that she would surely ask that. _You_, he writes finally. Cat scowls at the paper. He panics. _Not you in general, he adds. But the way you made me feel._

It's the most honest he's ever been with anyone, and his cheeks turn bright red as he notices what he wrote. Cat stares at the paper, he expression giving away nothing. "How did I make you... feel?"

Robbie huffs._ I can't tell you_. _It'll make things weird_.

"It won't," Cat assures him.

_It_ _will_, Robbie writes, underlining the 'will'. _And I don't want things to be weird. I like how they are._

"Robbie," Cat says suddenly, after reading his answer. "Would you like to have dinner with my family tonight?"

Robbie's eyes widen as he scribbles a "_what_?"

"I know it's kind of... soon," Cat says. "But I think they would like you."

_Do you have a giant whiteboard I can write on through all of dinner_ ?

Cat laughs at his response, taking into account Robbie's sarcastic look. "They won't mind that you don't talk. I'll tell them. They'll ask you yes or no questions."

_You hardly know me_, Robbie answers.

"No point in getting to know you if my parents don't like you anyways," Cat replies, sticking out her tongue. Robbie thinks it's cute, and then he blushes. "You're blushing," Cat calls him out.

He scowls deeply at her. _Shut up_, he writes._ I am not_.

"Sure," Cat says, grinning. He wants to smile, too, but not yet. "Why aren't you eating?"

_I had a really big breakfast_ .

"Oh?"

_Yeah_ . _I like food_ .

Cat snorts in laughter, and Robbie's happy that he makes her laugh. He likes that feeling. "Well, you'll love my stepmom. She cooks a lot."

_Do you_ ?

Cat shrugs. "I'm pretty good at it, I guess. But since she does it, I don't usually have to."

_Oh_, Robbie scrawls, _that's nice of her_.

Cat gives him an odd look, but then the lunch bell is ringing, and Cat gathers up her notebook. "Meet me by the flagpole out front, okay?" Robbie nods in confirmation, and she smiles at him before shouldering her backpack and leaving. He stares after her, and wonders what just happened.

His classes are hard, as he had feared, but his teachers are nice. Robbie feels like they will cut him some slack for his "learning disability". They think that he's mute, and Robbie thinks that's fine, because he doesn't like to talk anyways. He can, and sometimes he does, but he just prefers not to. Words hurt, words offend, words confuse and words can never say what you really want them to. Robbie finds words to be very useless things.

When the last bell of the day rings, Robbie takes a while to get to his locker. It's not because he's avoiding the meeting with Cat, but it's because so many people shove him in the halls. They aren't doing it on purpose, Robbie knows. He's just... invisible. He shoves all of his books in his locker, opting to blow off every bit of homework he had. He has several papers that need to be signed by a parent, but he doesn't have that anymore.

He wonders if maybe he should contact her, but he thinks that she must be better off. Most people are better off without him.

Cat is on her phone when he finally arrives, and he stands a bit awkwardly off to the side, wanting to give her space for a private conversation. Robbie still hears every word though, at least from her side, and he infers that she's talking to one of her parents. When she finally removes the phone from her ear, she smiles happily and starts walking. Robbie follows; he probably always will.

"Dad and Christine – stepmom – say that they can't wait to meet you. It took about five minutes to convince her that you weren't my boyfriend," Cat rambles. Robbie almost smiles at that. "And they say that you can stay with me until dinner. We'll probably be home alone for ten minutes or so. My little brothers get home a few minutes after me. Do you have anyone you need to call?" Robbie stares at her, biting his lip, and holding his hand out for her phone. She catches the innuendo, handing it over without hesitation.

He composes a text, telling Beck that he'd be back later so that he doesn't worry. He probably wouldn't have, because Beck trusts Robbie to stay safe. Cat continues walking when Robbie stops to type, and she's opening her car door when he finishes and looks up.

Cat has a nice car – a sleek charcoal Lexus – and Robbie's eyebrows raise in appraisal. She smiles and shrugs. "I made perfect scores in all of my classes last year." Robbie wants to talk then, because he likes talking to Cat. He likes hearing her voice, and her laugh, and maybe this is all his pent up emotion from three years ago, but he feels more connected to her than any friend he's ever made.

She understands that he doesn't talk though, and the whole way to her house, she surfs subjects, sometimes looking to Robbie for some sign that he was listening. He always nods vigorously, letting every word that flows from her mouth sink into his skin and burn it's way into his mind. He needs to remember this – every moment – for whenever it's over, and all he has is memories.

Before he knows it, they're stopping in front of a classic brick house with a white door. It's pretty, Robbie thinks, and he steps out of the car only after Cat does. She yanks her backpack out of the backseat, lugging it up to the front door. She struggles to unlock the door and hold her bag at the same time, so Robbie takes it. "Thanks," Cat tells him. He nods.

The door finally swings open, and Cat waltzes inside. Her shoes are kicked off almost immediately as she strides into the next room over. Robbie feels uncomfortable, because this is the first time he has ever been to a friends house, if he doesn't count Beck. He glances around for a moment before following Cat into the room she entered, and notices that it's a kitchen. She's piling Oreo's on a plate, pouring two glasses of milk. Her backpack is still slung over Robbie's shoulder, and she sets the Oreo's and milk on the table before taking her backpack.

Cat retrieves the notebook once more, opening it up to the page they left off on, and starts talking. "Dad and Christine are really easy to impress, trust me. As long as you don't act like a delinquent, my dad will like you. Christine will like you because you're tall and handsome, not to mention that she's been wanting me to date someone for years. She'll probably drop little hints, so I apologize in advance." Cat pauses as she sees Robbie hand start moving across the paper. She pushes a glass of milk over to Robbie and puts the Oreo's between them.

He shoves the notebook over into her view, and Cat smiles at his words._ I'm tall, and handsome?_

"Yeah," Cat replies, dipping an Oreo in her cup of milk. "A couple of my friends think you're really cute at school."

_And you ?_

"It'll make things weird if I tell you," Cat mocks. Robbie scowls at her and eats an Oreo moodily. She smiles, and he wonders why. "They think you're a new kid."

_Do I really look that different?_ Robbie writes after sanding the Oreo crumbs off of his hands.

Cat examines him, narrowing her eyes. "You are a lot taller. And you're more... defined?"

_Are you saying that I have nice muscles?_ Robbie smirks at her as he dots the question mark, and Cat thinks it's a nice expression on him.

"No," she says unconvincingly, and then she hears Robbie laugh for the first time.

It sounds gravelly, as if it's been awhile since he has, and after his small fit of laughter, he looks shocked._ I haven't laughed in awhile_, Robbie prints, _confirming her thoughts._

"Well, I'm glad to be the first one in a while who made you," she says earnestly. He meets her eyes, and he thinks her eyes are maybe his favorite thing on earth. Not a moment later, the sound of the front door opening breaks the silence, and Robbie jumps. Two young boys nearly fall over themselves as they race to the kitchen, but both stop in their tracks as they see Robbie.

"Are you Cat's boyfriend?" the one on the left asks bluntly. Robbie bites back a smile and shakes his head. "Oh. I'm Grayson," he proclaims.

"This is Robbie," Cat verbalizes for him. "The other one is Bobby." Robbie waves, feeling bad that he can't greet the kids with his own voice. He doesn't want to talk. Not yet.

"You're quiet," Bobby accuses.

Cat frowns disapprovingly at them. Robbie dislikes the expression on her; a smile is way better. "He doesn't talk. As him questions that he can answer with a 'yes' or 'no'," she suggests.

"Do you like Cat?" Matthew questions, filching an Oreo from their shared plate. Robbie doesn't like to lie, so points at an imaginary something across the room. While Cat is looking for what he gestured to, he's happy to find that the twins didn't avert their attention. He shrugs, nodding a little. Cat looks back as the twins shove each other and run from the room, already arguing over who gets what toy.

"What did you say to them?" Cat asks.

_Nothing_, Robbie writes, giving her a dry look.

"Don't get smart with me," she warns. Robbie rolls his eyes. "How old are you?"

_Eighteen_, Robbie answers.

"Seventeen," Cat shares. Robbie nods once. "Favorite color?"

_Blue_, he writes.

Cat doesn't seems satisfied with the trivial questions, so she asks, "Why don't you talk?"

Robbie meets her gaze and gnaws ruthlessly on his bottom lip. He shakes his head, saying that he doesn't want to answer. However, when Cat gives him a sad look, he can't say – well, write– no. He sighs, letting the tip of the pencil hit the paper, but unable to write a word.

_I'm not good at it_, he says finally. And it's not a lie, it's just not the whole truth.

"You seem fine to me," Cat replies.

Robbie shakes his head. _I never know what to say, or how to say it. If I can write, I have time to think. The world doesn't stop for me to think of the perfect words to say when I'm talking out loud._

"I'd wait for your answer," Cat argues. "I want to hear your voice." Robbie gives her a negative response, underlining it several times on the paper. "Why? Do you sound like a five year-old or something? Or is it creepily deep?"

Robbie snorts lightly, writing "_no_" once more._ Words never help_, he writes after a moment. _They only make things worse._

"Not true," Cat digresses. "Not if you say nice things."

Robbie gives her a look. _Saying nice things is even worse_.

"Why?"

_Because. It ' ll be that much worse when the person leaves._

Cat frowns deeply at the paper, and Robbie hates himself for being the reason for her perplexed expression. "You can't think like that," she orders. "It's so pessimistic." He shrugs helplessly. "Not everyone is going to leave," Cat tells him.

_Maybe not intentionally_, he scrawls,_ but eventually, they will_.

"So, what you're saying is," Cat starts, "you shouldn't get close to anyone – or even let them hear your voice – because they may potentially leave you?"

Robbie scowls._ It sounds worse when you say it out loud_, he writes after a moment.

"Things are more honest out loud," Cat informs him. He doesn't look convinced, and Cat swallows her pride. "You are handsome. Quite, actually." Robbie's head snaps up, and he stares at her wide-eyed and red-faced.

He buries his face in his hands, embarrassed beyond belief. _You proved your point_, he writes after calming down his external temperature.

"I meant it," she tells him.

Robbie blushes again._ Then, thank you_. He hesitates, his hand fluttering over the paper before he adds,_ I think you're beautiful_.

Cat's cheeks heat up this time, and probably her neck, too. She smiles at him, and he bites his bottom lip into his mouth before scribbling a sentence quickly, before he loses his nerve. _That's how I felt about you when we were fifteen._

"You liked me?" Cat questions.

Robbie shakes his head adamantly. He underlines _'I think you're beautiful_' three times'. _There's a difference_, he adds.

"Which is?"

_Liking you is juvenile; thinking you're beautiful is completely different_. Cat isn't really sure what he means, but it made her smile anyways. She nods, not wanting to break the silence, and Robbie leaned back in his chair, breaking apart an Oreo. They finish off the plate without speaking, and Robbie finds himself feeling completely at ease before he writes,_ I missed you, too_.

Cat smiles.

Robbie bites his lip, and Cat notes that it has to be a nervous habit. _Why are you so nice to me? Why do you care at all?_

Cat blinks at the paper after he turns it her way. "Maybe," Cat says delicately, "because I see you better than you see yourself."

* * *

Dinner went far easier than both Robbie and Cat could ever hope for. Her parents follow directions, only asking questions that can be affirmed or denied with a nod or shake of the head. Cat stares on in amusement as Robbie and her father have a mainly one-sided conversation, Robbie paying full attention to her father's endless talk about model airplanes.

That was another thing about Robbie she really likes. No matter what you were saying, he always stares at you intently, letting you know that you have his full attention. It's an intoxicating feeling, especially because it's Robbie's attention. The boy she's been so consumed with ever since he left school, and didn't come back until now.

He turns and looks at her then, as her father thanks Christine for dinner. Cat's father is gone a few moments later, clapping Robbie on the back to show his approval. Robbie shakes his hand formally, and stares bluntly at Cat as Christine gathers the dishes.

He gives her a small smile, a private, innocent, silent "thank you". She nods and grins back. "It's eight; do you need to go?"

Robbie pauses before nodding, because yes he should get back to the apartment and clean – his end of the deal – but he doesn't want to leave Cat. She stands, drinking her remaining water and gesturing for him to follow. He does. He always does.

She's not sure why she does it – because it's been two years and they hardly know each other – but, it feels right as she grabs Robbie's hand, intertwining their fingers. Robbie gets butterflies and Cat wants to kick herself for being so impulsive. Robbie grips her hand though, and Cat knows it's okay.

She drives him home, and Robbie wants to kiss her again, but he can't. He won't.

He settles for looking her in the eyes, and conveying his thanks. She smiles in response, and Robbie smiles, tight-lipped, at her. He gets out of the car, headed for the path that leads up the steps to the apartment – luckily on the second floor – but Cat calls out to him. Robbie stops and turns, and she jogs up to him.

"Hi," she says softly. Robbie waves and chuckles. "I just – do you walk?" Robbie looks confused. "To school," Cat clarified, without a smidgen of grace. Robbie nods. "Be out here by eight-thirty. I'll give you a ride."

Robbie starts to shake his head, telling her silently that it's fine, but she hugs him quickly – so quickly that he has hardly any time to respond – and backs away from him. "Eight-thirty," she repeats. He nods now, waving gently to her. She gets back into her car and drives away.

Robbie smiles into thin air, thinking that this must be what happy feels like.

* * *

Cat picks him up every day for two weeks, and Beck relentlessly teases him about having a girlfriend. Robbie shakes his head every time, and Beck cackles to himself.

Within those two weeks, he'd gathered enough money from the coffee shop to buy a phone – finally – and he gets a nice one, the new iPhone. If he's going to spend a lot of money, go big or go home.

He only has two numbers – Beck's and Cat's – and maybe it's a little sad, but Robbie doesn't mind. They are his only two friends, and why should he have someone's number that he's not friends with? Plus, he gets to talk to Cat more.

Cat texts him on Monday morning, informing him that she has a massive migraine and won't be at school. And Robbie has really started to care about Cat. He considers her his best friend, though he's never told her. Despite the two-year lapse in their friendship, they just clicked, and got each other so easily.

He's had perfect attendance for the past two weeks. He decides that a Monday spent coddling Cat was better than school without her. Robbie informs her that he's coming over, and she scolds him, but never tells him not to visit.

The walk takes about thirty minutes, but Robbie decides that it's worth it when Cat calls him "the best friend in the history of friends".

She invites him in with an indulgent smile, seats him on the couch and leaves to get water. She comes back, and hands him his glass, but the metal bracelet on his arm scrapes it. Cat winces and rubs her temple, and Robbie realizes that this is the second headache he's given her.

"Sorry," she mutters after a moment. "I get migraines sometimes." Robbie nods and tries to squeeze some sympathy into his eyes. He used to get headaches, too.

He pulls his phone back to himself, and starts typing. It's maybe the longest thing he's ever made Cat read, but he hopes she doesn't mind. _I'm sorry for leaving that day. I just didn't know what to do, because I've never really thought about anyone that way. I didn't want to be a problem._

Cat doesn't seem to think it's long at all though, and she looks confused. "Why would you be a problem?"

Robbie looks at her odd, as if to say, "why wouldn't I be a problem?"

Cat leans on his shoulder then, and rests one of her hands in the crook of his elbow. Robbie knows that he has to be on fire, because there's no reason his skin should feel so hot just because it's Cat. "Robbie, you've never been a problem."

He's not entirely sure why the words mean so much to him, but he finds his eyes stinging. He doesn't even notice that he's crying until water falls on his hand. Then Robbie jumps slightly, because he wasn't even sure he could cry anymore.

He used to, years ago. Every night, he would end up crying. Not gut-wrenching sobs, but the silent tears with a blank expression. That's when you know someone's hurting. In recent years, he'd lost the ability to cry. He would just stare blankly at the ceiling, and wonder what made him the way he was.

Tears keep falling, and Robbie feels weaker than he ever has before. He's never let anyone see him cry, especially not a girl, but here he is. He covers his face, trying to gather his wits and stop before Cat sees, but by the way she's suddenly hugging him, Robbie knows that she did. She hugs him tight, and it only makes Robbie want to cry harder. He never makes a sound, but tear tracks keep appearing on his face.

"I'm sorry," she says after a while, when Robbie's managed to stop being so emotionally unstable. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Robbie shakes his head instantly, fumbling for his phone._ No,_ he taps out,_ it's not that_._ No one has said anything like that to me before_.

"Well, they should have," Cat says, scowling. "No one, even the worst people, deserve to think that they're a problem."

_You'd be a good therapist_.

"Oh?" Cat questions.

Robbie nods vehemently. _You're good at_, he pauses, _making me feel better_.

"What are friends for?" Cat mutters.

_You're tired_, he types. Cat nods. _Sleep_.

"I don't want to," Cat argues. "You're here." Robbie rolls his eyes. "You'd be bored, and also creepy, watching me sleep."

_Not if I sleep too_, Robbie replies. He gives her a challenging look, and Cat scowls. _Tell me I'm right_. One corner of his mouth turns up, and Cat gives him a disapproving look.

"Whatever," Cat grumbles. Robbie shoves her shoulder, giving her an expectant look. She meets his gaze, and Robbie raises his eyebrows, waiting. "You aren't _wrong_." He gestures for her to continue. "Stop," she says finally, shoving him. She's frowning, and Robbie's smirking because he knows. "You're rude." Robbie shakes his head, still smiling softly at her. "Stop," Cat repeats, using an open palm to shove his face away. "Don't look at me like that."

_Like what_? Robbie mouths, too lazy to type.

Cat looks surprised. "Like... with that face."

_What face_? he asks. Cat decides that she really, really like this method of communication better, because she has a reason to stare at his lips.

"Your face," she replies.

_My face_, Robbie repeats silently, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," Cat answers. Her stomach twists slightly when she adds, "it's really cute."

Robbie's face gets progressively redder, but he doesn't look away from her eyes. He loves them – her eyes._ Thank you_, he mouths.

"Remember how you felt about me? When we were fifteen?" Cat says suddenly, confidence rushing in her veins for whatever reason. Robbie hesitates before nodding. "What about now?"

Robbie shakes his head. _I'm not telling_, he stresses._ No_.

Cat keeps staring at him, and Robbie feels transparent. "Please." He refuses again, and Cat takes his hand, repeating her plead.

They stare at each other for a long time, Cat wanting him to say something, and Robbie knowing that he can't. She's special, his best friend, and he doesn't want to mess that up. Cat leans closer, and Robbie thinks he's dead. Surely, he has to be dead and this is what heaven is like.

Her forehead is touching his, and Robbie's having trouble breathing. "Robbie," she says evenly, and Robbie envies her for being able to keep her composure. She pushes even closer to him, and Robbie isn't sure what to do because he's never actually kissed a girl, and it seems that Cat wants him to.

He tries taking a deep breath, but the result is a shallow, shaky, nervous gust of air. His eyes are closed tight, because he doesn't want to open them and find out that it was all a dream. "Robbie," Cat says again, and it's barely above a whisper. Robbie gets a delighted shiver at the feeling of her breath on his lips, and he realizes that he would only have to lean forward to close the space between them.

So he does, on impulse, and he's still – so still, deathly still – because wow, did he really just do that?

But then Cat is kissing him back, and it's real and not a dream and Robbie's really not getting enough oxygen right now. She leans back, and it was short – much shorter than the amount of time others at school kiss – but Robbie's glad she did. He probably would have died on the spot if Cat hadn't stopped.

Cat pushes him so that he's lying flat on the couch and Robbie feels a rush of hysteria. He's eighteen and just had his first kiss and he has no clue what he's doing, but Cat doesn't kiss him again. Instead, she lays her head carefully on his chest, slithering her arms around him. He cautiously wraps his arm around her back, and hopes that she doesn't hear his heartbeat. It's off the charts.

Cat snuggles into the crook of his neck, and says, "night."

Robbie doesn't even bother with telling her that it's ten in the morning.

* * *

When Robbie wakes up, he scowls for a moment at how warm he is. Only moments later, he recalls that morning – more specifically, what happened that morning – and he smiles. And it's a good smile; one of his smiles that make his eyes crinkle and his cheeks hurt. He jumps when someone pokes his cheek, and his smile fades only slightly as he opens his eyes.

Cat's still resting on his chest, but she's looking up at him. Robbie bites his lip and Cat frowns. "I didn't want you to stop smiling," she grumbles.

Robbie chuckles, and pushes a curl away from her face – which is just some dumb excuse for touching her, really. He doesn't really want to kiss her again, and not because he didn't like it, but because he doesn't know how. She pokes his cheek again, telling him to smile, and Robbie can't help it as he follows directions. Cat smiles in response to his, and Robbie can't stop staring at her.

He doesn't know what love feels like, but he knows that is has to be something close to this. Laying with Cat, running his hands through her hair softly as she smiles up at him. His chest is tight with missing her the moment she extricates herself from the couch. "When do you think you'll talk?" she questions, holding the two empty glasses of water in her hands.

Robbie stares up at her earnestly, finding his phone because he wants her to know every word that he says, precisely.

_When I find something important enough to say._

;;

He finally does, a month later. They're exiting the school, holding hands, much to Robbie's delight. They kiss sometimes, but it never goes far. Robbie thinks that Cat senses his hesitance. And he's glad she understands – she's so good at that – because he doesn't want to admit to her how inexperienced he is.

It hasn't been a particularly exciting day, and Cat is rambling on about some assignment due in her history class. She's excited about it, Robbie can tell. She's glowing, her hands moving to coincide with her words, and her eyes are bright. Robbie's not really sure what she's saying, but she looks so perfect in that moment that he can't restrain from tugging on her hand so that she stops.

"What?" she asks curiously, smiling slightly.

It's very rare that Robbie initiates the affection, but he pulls her face up to his and kisses her. It's intense, probably the deepest they'd ever kissed, and Robbie is surprised at himself.

After he pulls back, he says the words he'd been practicing to himself. His voice isn't hoarse and strained as he simply says, "I love you."

Cat stares at him in shock, and Robbie feels panic rising in his chest._ Too soon_, he thinks. His eyes fall to the ground, and he's blushing – he feels it. But Cat forcing him to look up, holding his chin up with her hand. He tries to avoid her eyes, but unintentionally, like magnets, Robbie's eyes find hers.

Robbie's eyes widen when he sees a tear fall down her otherwise flawless face, and he brings a shaky hand up to remove it, but then – she's kissing him. He can't breathe, between the panic of actually saying that and, well, Cat always leaves him breathless, really. She's saying something against his lips, but he can't hear her over the pounding of his heart, clamorous in his ears.

Robbie pulls back, leaning his forehead on hers and breathing. Then he hears what Cat had been saying over and over: "I love you, I love you, too."

He swipes the tears away from her eyes and Cat starts laughing. "I'm sorry," she tells him. "I'm not usually this emotional."

Robbie nods, smiling, and says it again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she says, staring into his eyes like they were the only thing she knew. "Yeah. I love you, too," she repeats, dazedly.

Robbie grins, leaning down and kissing her through his smile. Her elbows rest on his shoulders and her hands find their home in his hair. Robbie hears a whistle, and he's not sure who did it, but he smiles and laughs against her lips.

* * *

Robbie is nineteen.

And Cat is eighteen.

He talks now, more than usual, and never forgets to tell her how much he loves her. He tells her everything, and she understands. She's still good at that – understanding.

Robbie has days where he doesn't want to talk. He has nothing to say, and he doesn't want to talk. Those are the days when he reminds himself that yes, words do cause pain, but just as easily as they can hurt, words can heal. He notices this when Cat leans into his side and tells him that everything will be okay. She loves him, and she'll always love him, and she doesn't plan on leaving.

And maybe, that's all he ever needed to hear.

* * *

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